


Reunion

by Anarchyinplasma



Series: Yorkalina snippets [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Retcon, gets angsty, gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyinplasma/pseuds/Anarchyinplasma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Carolina is not the most psychologically stable of individuals...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I've loved this ship for so long, finally wrote something for it, anyone who's read a large amount of Yorkalina stuff may recognise a few references to other stories. Credit to those authors for having creativity and not needing to steal it like me.
> 
> To any regular readers of mine, Slices of Eternity is coming, promise, I just have some writers block and this barely slipped through.

Carolina sees him in the little things, the clink of metal tools, the scraping of armour on a door handle, the scuff and scrape of a boot. It's so easy to be reminded of the clink of York's leatherman and his tools, the way he would flick it open like a butterfly knife, overly dramatic but in that way that was so unique to York that made her smile behind her visor even as she readied her rifle to take out the people that would inevitably be behind the door.

The scrape of his glove on a door handle that would always signify a successful break in. As he'd always make a quip about it being too easy, and the way he'd hold the door for her just so he could stare at her ass on the way in. She'd smirk under her helmet and add a little extra sway to her hips just to know that his mouth was going dry and that she'd have to remind him how to breathe again.

The scuff of his boot as he'd nudge a door open and she could almost see his eyes rolling at the pitiful tripwire. But even after all that she knows no-one else will ever measure up. It's also the small things, like how they try to chat her up in a bar, one guy tries something with a lighter and her heart damn near breaks. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough to replace him. Not even close.

She grows to hate Tucker more and more with each passing day. She knows Wash can see it, everyone in the project was trained to read people, but she's far past hiding it. One day he says something so close to what she knew, something she heard far too late from York, and she snaps.

“Hey Carolina, if I told you I liked your armour-” and that’s as far as he gets. Carolina turns, her hips dropping and throwing most of her bodyweight behind a lightning fast punch that slams into Tucker's faceplate like a truck, sending spider-webbing cracks across the outer glass later. She follows with a jab to his kidneys, causing him to double over in pain before she brings her knee up into his face. She hears his nose snap from the force of his loose-fitting helmet snapping into it. The wet crunch is very satisfying. At least he won't be talking for a while.

Wash at least understands, even if he doesn't strictly approve. She can almost hear York's voice in her head as she comes up with that phrasing.  
“It's not lying Lina. It's just being economical with the truth.”

But none of those little things, none of Tucker and his nerve-shreddingly awful “pickup lines” (and she hesitates to even use that phrase, because York's were pickup lines, jokes and confidence and small details). What really gets to her starts up again after they really kick the Chorus revolution into overdrive. Ever since she lost Eta and Iota, she's had to deal with the echoes of them in her head, the removal was painful and violent, visual and auditory hallucinations get frequent for a while then drop off again, just long enough for her to think that maybe they'll not come back this time.

But they always return, it's always a flash of gold in a crowd, she'll wake up in the middle of the night back in her freelancer bunk, with York's heart-stoppingly familiar smile a respite from her dreams before she realises it's not real and cries herself back to sleep as the illusion shatters around her. Her own silent sobs her only companion in the dark.

One day he's following her, his ghost a constant presence at her shoulder, this is always the worst point, it reminds her so much of freelancer, her mood only gets worse when she realises he’ll go again soon, and yet on the 29th of April, 2572, as she walks out into the briefing room in full armour, with York's ghost at her shoulder as is usual, trying for her attention as is usual. Wash’s rifle immediately snaps up to the point just beyond her left shoulder where the hallucination always stands, as a gasp comes from his throat in a stuttered  
“York...?”

Carolina whirls around and hits solid gold armour with an open palm. The ghost stumbles. Her head snaps back round to Wash in a second, she has to check, has to know this isn't what happened before.  
“You can see him too?” Wash's unhelmed brow furrows. He knows what that implies, Epsilon does too, but he's silent. The figure in front of her slowly reaches up to remove his helmet, the battered metal releasing it's vacuum seal with a familiar gentle hiss. Carolina looks upon the face of the man she fell in love with so very long ago and lets her tears fall. Slowly the sobs start to wrack her body, everyone in the room, from Tucker whose nose still hasn't healed because Wash keeps finding ways to break it in training to Sarge and all the rest of the Reds and Blues can see her crying; and she doesn't care one bit.

York (and it must be York, there can be no doubt now) slowly wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a gentle embrace, burying his face into her hair even as she feels his own tears. For the first time since she fell off the cliff, she relaxes fully, completely into York's arms. Then she pushes herself off his chestplate and shoves him roughly, throwing a half-hearted punch and then several more.  
“How many years?” She asks, voice cracking, ask her if she gives a fuck. “How many fucking years York!?” York just smiles, gives her that classic smirk.  
“Yeah, missed you too Carolina” he catches her wrists and pulls her back closer to him again.

She hears Tucker behind her mutter  
“Dude has a death wish” before Wash hits him in the crotch hard with the butt of his rifle to shut him up.

She half collapses into York again and buries her face in his neck as she returns his embrace as he rests his chin on her shoulder and buries his face in her hair again, his lips beside her ear whispering things meant only for her.  
“I love you Carolina”

She smiles and moves her lips up to grace his ear, under the hair starting to become streaked with silver and whispers back.  
“I love you too”


End file.
